


But It Will Never Break

by orphan_account



Series: Soulmates AU [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Red String of Fate, Soulmates, This is really short but I’ve always liked poetry better than novels so, bittersweet i guess, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 06:26:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13541628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mycroft is seven, and there’s no red string of fate around his little finger.





	But It Will Never Break

**Author's Note:**

> Erm... hi?  
> I’m not writing for this fandom anymore. But.  
> I’m still having ideas and I like to write really short stories so I guess I can share them. It’s probably too short to be on AO3 but this ship deserves more fics, even if it’s just an unbeta’d Drabble.  
> English is not my native language!  
> Enjoy <3

Mycroft is seven, and there’s no red string of fate around his little finger.  
He’s in the corridor of an hospital, waiting for his mother to give birth to his little brother behind the wall he’s sitting against.  
He doesn’t move, his hands resting on his lap, quiet and patient as he has been taught to be.  
He hears a cry coming for the room and moves to get up, feeling the urge to finally meet his baby brother after months of daydreaming of not being alone anymore, but stops as he catches red at the corner of his eyes. He lifts his hand to his face and feels his eyes widen as he realizes that the red is a string, entwined around his little finger, pointing straight behind him.  
He knows, and runs to the other direction, his mind a mess and his heart breaking each step he takes that makes him move further away from him.  
From his brother.  
From his soulmate.

  
Mycroft is eight, and there’s a red string linking him to his sleeping baby brother.  
He watches him with caution, still feeling confused by the storm of emotions and the urge to protect overwhelming him ever since Sherlock was born. His mother enters the room and catches him looking at his pinky.  
“You still don’t have a string?”  
“No, Mummy.” She smiles softly at him, worry around her eyes. She thinks he can’t see it, but Mycroft sees _everything_.  
“Don’t worry. It can take up to sixteen years before it appears. You still have time,” she tells him gently, too gently. If she knew, what would she say? Mycroft checked. Brothers can’t be soulmates. But they are, and he saw Sherlock’s eyes follow the string.  
It’s wrong, it’s disgusting, and it should be kept a secret.  
The first thing he teaches his brother is to lie.

  
Mycroft is sixteen, and there’s a red string of fate around his finger that nobody knows about, except for his soulmate. Mummy cried the morning of his birthday, thinking Mycroft was abnormal and unable to love and connect with someone.  
If she knew he was in love with his own brother, what would she think?

  
Mycroft is twenty, and there’s a red string around his little finger that’s stretching all the way from New York, where he is studying, to England, where Sherlock is.  
He wishes the distance could make it break.

  
Mycroft is twenty-five, and there’s a red string of fate he follows to a drug den, once, twice, and then he stops counting. The strings are not supposed to be used like that.  
But then they’re not supposed to link family members together either.

  
Mycroft is thirty-four, and there’s a red string guiding him to a crime scene where his soulmate almost died. There, he meets someone who could have been the perfect soulmate for his brother. But he isn’t, and Mycroft stops wishing for another fate long ago.

  
Mycroft is forty, and there’s a red string around his finger that’s pointing at a gun. Or rather, the gun is pointing at him. He thinks it’s how he dies, killed by his soulmate, his brother.  
But Sherlock never fires, and they survive.

  
Mycroft is forty, and there’s a red string of fate around his little finger that’s been pushing him towards his brother for the past thirty-three years.  
He’s tired of fighting it. He’s tired of asking himself what would people think. He’s tired of seeing his soulmate slowly killing himself.

  
Mycroft is forty, there’s a red string of fate between him and his brother that he finally allows to get entwined around their hands as they share their first kiss. 


End file.
